


Shades of Glamor

by UberVenkman



Series: Anna DeWitt, Private Investigator [3]
Category: BioShock, BioShock Infinite
Genre: Cyberpunk, Detective Noir, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-01-04 18:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12174645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UberVenkman/pseuds/UberVenkman
Summary: Silas Cobb was a low-key crony to Sander Cohen's studios, completely inconsequential. Well, he would be if it weren't for the fact two other former Cohen actors had been murdered in equally gruesome ways. Plus the fact that Detective Anna DeWitt was the last person to see him alive. Dragged into the world of Ascension's film industry, Anna DeWitt finds her investigation growing more difficult by the hour.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What you are about to read is Book Two of a four-novel series focusing on this character, Detective Anna DeWitt. For further context, please read "The Shadow of the Crimson Moon."

Detective Anna DeWitt knew who she was. And she hated herself for it.

She knew that she was little more than a splinter. A fragment of a woman who sacrificed herself for the greater good in that damned city at the bottom of the ocean.

She wouldn’t have called that version of herself a god. But when comparing herself to her, well, Anna DeWitt was a mere mortal.

She did not know if she could ever forgive the Lutece twins for putting her on the path to remembering that life, a life that was really not hers. But then again, maybe there was nothing to forgive. Maybe she just had to accept it as it was—her city, Ascension, needed a hero.

Anna DeWitt did not think she was a hero. In her mind, Booker DeWitt was a hero. Not her Booker, but Elizabeth’s Booker. Hell, even Rapture’s Jack Ryan was more of a hero than Ascension’s Jack Ryan. At least, that’s what she thought. Actually, she wasn’t sure what Jack Ryan was in this world. As far as she knew, he was simply attending college on Earth.

Frankly, the Elizabeth that went back to Rapture was more of a hero than she was. Anna DeWitt saw herself as simply a detective who just had the big cases thrown at her.

Anna DeWitt was wrong about herself. She did not simply take cases because they came her way. She had a strict moral code, which she followed in all of her cases. Perhaps the universe’s way of atoning for what it had put other versions of her through.

Her being a hero is not a variable. In the end, she will always do her best to save her friends and her city.

Whether she will succeed, however, is not a constant.

My brother and I felt we should warn you of that.

* * *

But that choice is much farther down the line. Perhaps you deserve a diversion of sorts until that day comes.

* * *

**Sunday, July 5, 2370, 11:23 PM  
A dark alleyway behind The Liberty Club, Sandland**

The average human spends a lot of time loitering.

There’s probably a study out there with the average amount of time a person spends loitering in their lifetime. I mean, it depends on your definition of loitering. Walking around a city aimlessly with your best friend, hanging out in an alleyway behind the theater where you’re rehearsing a play, enjoying a light summer breeze in the park. Loitering can be refreshing, if uneventful.

The woman in the black fedora and tan overcoat standing outside of the club was loitering for the sake of loitering. The atmosphere in the club had taken a turn for the obnoxious—so many creeps grabbing her butt—so she had gone out for a breather, to enjoy the fresh air.

Well, not fresh. All air in the city of Ascension was processed through turbines, pumping out pollutants and scrubbing carbon from the air. So the whole thing was like a sealed canister hopelessly tumbling through space in a stable position between the Earth and the moon. Of course, there were trees planted in places to help control the environment, so that was basically fresh air, too.

Either way, it was a welcome relief from the sickly smell that permeated the interior of the club. A light summer breeze blew through the air (another completely artificial creation).

The woman heard a door open, along with the flutter of music and drunken singing. She turned to see a man, late 20s, walk out of the club, wearing a black peacoat. He reached into his pockets and pulled out a cigarette. As he placed it into his mouth, he felt around his coat. Not finding what he was looking for, he took to looking in his vicinity.

“Got a light?” he asked the woman.

She raised her arm, revealing a grey metal band that circled around her wrist. She hit a button on it, and a small flame shot out from the band. “Smoke away,” she declared.

The man smiled with gratitude and lit his cigarette.

The woman extinguished the flame and lowered her arm. “Cigarette break?” she asked.

“Basically,” the man replied, blowing smoke out from his lips. “You a smoker?”

“My dad was. I never picked up the habit.”

“It’s a terrible habit,” the man shrugged, tapping some ash away. “My boss discourages it. But what can I say? I’m a whore for nicotine.”

“And I’m one for alcohol,” the woman replied. “Nice to meet you, Mr…?”

“Cobb. Silas Cobb.”

The woman smiled as she shook Cobb’s hand. “DeWitt. Anna DeWitt.”

Silas’s eyes widened slightly. “ _The_ Anna DeWitt? The one who solved the Tenenbaum murder and exposed Fontaine’s dealings?”

“The one and only. You seem puzzled.”

“Well, no offense, but I thought you’d be…well, older.”

“Most people expect that,” Anna shrugged. “I don’t like my image showing up in the media. I’ve made some friends in pretty high places, they know how to keep my face out of the papers usually. What brings you to Liberty Club, Silas?”

Silas took a long drag of his cigarette. The way he did it reminded Anna of when her father let her try her first cigarette. She had taken one breath of smoke and was coughing for a week afterwards.

“Lotta pressure at work,” he said finally. “Needed time to destress.”

“No kidding. What sorta work do you do?”

“Well, I guess for my regular job I work at Ascension Overtures. You know, the music store?”

“Yeah, I live a couple blocks from there. Nice place. Doesn’t have anything from before 2100, might want to change that.”

“…I’ll…talk it over with my business partner. But on the side, I guess you could call me an actor.”

Anna smirked. “How’s that working out?”

“I’m detecting a hint of condescension,” Silas remarked, lowering his cigarette.

“Forgive me for saying this, but I know my fair share of actors. Most of them are broke.”

Silas laughed. “Well, you’re not far off. I used to be a broke actor.”

“’Used to’?”

“I took the deal of a lifetime. Pays well, I suppose. Although…” He looked at Anna. “…well, I really can’t tell you.”

“Don’t bother,” Anna replied, pushing down one of her cuticles. “I’m not particularly interested in the details of your life. I just feel like talking to someone. Makes hanging out here a little less awkward.”

“Well then,” Silas retorted. “What brings you to the Liberty Club, Detective DeWitt?”

Anna liked it when people referred to her in a formal manner. “Well, _Monsieur_ Cobb, I too needed some destress-time. I try to take whatever case comes my way, no matter how dangerous it could be.”

Silas flicked some ash away. “Like, for example, throwing Frank Fontaine off a building?”

“Exactly.”

“So why a jazz club specifically? One would expect you to go somewhere more…bouncy. Like the Club 80s.”

Anna snorted. “If I went there Les Cohen would just flirt with me all night. No…I come here for my dad.”

“Oh, is he here tonight?”

“No, he’s dead.”

Silas raised his eyebrows with concern. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it was…well…” Anna looked down a bit uncomfortably. “…it was a long time ago. But, you know, he always came here to unwind, and when I was old enough he brought me along too. So I figured it’s my duty to come here when I can.”

There was a brief silence. The conversation had taken a dark turn.

“You miss him?” Silas asked.

Anna laughed. “Of course I miss him, he was my dad. Why?”

“Just asking. You said you keep coming back.”

“For him, yes. But also for me. They’ve got good music and alcohol. That’s all I need.”

Silas didn’t say anything. He just looked off at the traffic light, directing the empty streets and the occasional car who stopped when it was red despite being the only vehicle around simply because they figured there was no point in breaking the law.

Anna glanced at the traffic light before looking back at Silas. “Okay, prettyboy. If you were me, what would you do?”

He let the rest of his cigarette drop to the ground. “Let me put it this way, detective: I’m a performer. I spend my days following directions, but at some point I’d like to be able to do my own thing, without the burden of my relationship with others. Sometimes we’re better off not letting the influence of others hinder us, and maybe try controlling our own life for once.”

Anna took in Silas. He was tall with amber-colored hair. The most distinctive thing about his face were his cheekbones, which easily made him one of the more attractive people she had ever seen. He was a bit thin, but it looked like he had a bit of muscle on him. He looked like something out of an old movie.

After analyzing him for a few seconds, she smiled, “I like your thought-process, Silas. And your face isn’t bad either.”

Silas smirked. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

Anna reached into her pocket and pulled out her business card. “Here: in case you ever need a detective.” She pulled out a pen and wrote down her mobile number before handing the card to Silas. “Or if you ever need a friend.”

Silas turned the card over a few times in his hand. “I’ll be sure to, Detective DeWitt. Hey…have a good evening.”

And, taking a moment to crush the remains of his cigarette with the heel of his shoe, he walked down the alleyway out towards the street and disappeared into the night.

* * *

Anna had no idea she would be the last person to see him alive.


	2. Coincidence and Conspiracy

**Monday, July 6, 2370, 9:53 AM**

**DeWitt Investigations, Calypso Plaza, Bradley Heights**

The office was dark, as was often the case. The only source of light was through the window shades, which blocked out the artificial sunlight of the city of Ascension.

In the past seven months, the office had become much cleaner, no doubt thanks to the help of its owner’s new secretary/assistant/accountant/sister/techy. Most of the haphazardly-stacked columns of paper had been organized, shredded, and/or thrown away. Instead of a pile of discarded coffee cups, the windowsill had some artificial flowers. A bookshelf, which to be fair had mostly been filled with tax documents, had been removed and replaced with a new desk area for the secretary. The refrigerator had been cleaned out and generally had some sort of snack someone could enjoy.

Of course, when it came to better habits, there wasn’t much to be said about the snoring woman on the floor, using her trenchcoat as a blanket.

* * *

A panel beeped an odd tune and the door slid open, revealing the silhouette of a woman, aged 19, carrying a backpack and a tray with two coffees on it. One was sweetened with some agave nectar, and the other was black.

The panel hummed, and a British-accented voice emerged from it. _“Good morning, Sally.”_

“Mornin’, Alec,” Sally replied.

“mmmmORNIN’, ALEC!” Anna blurted as she jumped up from the floor. She had been using her trenchcoat as a blanket, and her hair looked like a bird’s nest had been untangled—which is not meant to imply it looked straight, but that it was all crinkled from being held in a certain way for a long time.

Sally stared at her. “You slept on the floor _again_?”

Anna felt her hair. “Oof, that feels like a bird’s nest that’s been untangled…I didn’t trust myself to drive after I was done at the Liberty Club last night, and this was close enough, so I walked.”

“You literally live behind that door,” Sally retorted, pointing to the closed door next to a bookshelf. “You have a very nice bed.”

Anna rubbed the back of her neck. “Yeah, but that was, like, seven more feet of walking I didn’t have the energy to do. Is that coffee?”

“Alec, where’s her car?” Sally asked, rolling her eyes as she handed Anna the coffee.

_“Safely stowed in the parking garage. I activated the homing beacon after she arrived.”_

Sally sighed as she turned back to Anna, who was finishing up a big gulp of coffee. “Just as you like it: black as the moonless night.”

“We’re literally in orbit around the moon,” Anna coughed. “None of our nights are moonless. Nor our days.” She took another sip. “Why’d you go out and buy coffee, anyway? We have a machine, it makes pretty good coffee.”

“Well it would, if we hadn’t run out of coffee beans,” Sally replied.

Anna looked at Sally. “So your solution to this caffeine conundrum was, instead of just going out and buying beans, was to go out and buy coffee, meaning someone’s gonna have to make another trip to go buy beans?”

_“If I may defend Ms. Tenenbaum for a moment—“_

“Please don’t.”

“No, go ahead, I wanna hear what he says.”

 _“…it is_ your _machine, Detective. Therefore the coffee beans are_ your _responsibility.”_

Anna sighed. She’d only been up for two minutes and already the day was looking dull. “Well then…I guess I shall go to the store and buy the coffee beans, seeing as initiative is something this office really lacks.”

“Yeah?” Sally asked, putting her hands on her hips. “And whose fault is that?”

Anna finished her coffee, then picked up her coat from the couch. “I’ll head down to the Grab ‘n Buy, see if you can hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

“Hey, careful while you’re on the way, something happened at the Ascension Overtures store. There’re police everywhere.”

A spark of familiarity with the name of the store crossed Anna’s mind, but the only thing she felt like saying was, “Strange. Well, call me if any clients come by.”

“Gee, 10 in the morning and you’re actually up and about?” Sally remarked. “Pace yourself, detective.”

“I’ll let you lecture me about pacing when you take a test that you studied for regularly instead of cramming the night before.”

“Did you ever follow that advice in college?”

“Never.”

* * *

Days in Ascension were entirely artificial: though they followed the Earth clock, Ascension itself generally had a constant supply of sunlight, disregarding the times it was blocked by the Earth or the moon. The city followed the Earth-sun cycle simply because it was convenient. Plus, no one wanted to go through the trouble of making a so-called “Stardate” measurement.

Anna never really understood why people adhered to the cycle so rigidly. But that was mainly because she liked going to clubs until the early hours of the morning. Really, a detective had no set sleeping schedule.

Or maybe it was just her.

There was a considerable crowd near the police line around Ascension Overtures, the local music store. These people seemed to adhere to the normal sleep schedule—as one would expect, they were carrying coffees and various snacks.

“Hey, Sullivan!” the detective called out, recognizing a face behind the line.

Chief Sullivan, a mustachioed man who to Anna always looked like a rodent, looked up. “Anna, what are you doing up so early?”

“Early?” someone in the crowd wearing a red shirt remarked. “It’s past 10.”

“Hey, you in the red shirt, shut up.” She turned to Sullivan as she approached the line. “Just heading over to the market, what’s going on?” She could now see that the main focus of the crime scene was a relatively fancy-looking car with the clearly-defined license plate “SUN.”

Sullivan looked grim. “Well, I’m not really supposed to talk about this, but this is looking a lot like a mob hit. Car was found parked here this morning, someone looked in, saw…well…okay, come on.” He lifted up the police tape.

Anna was taken aback. What could possibly be so odd about the crime scene that Sullivan felt the need to show her?

Soon she found out: the backseats of the car had been removed and replaced by a small kiddy-pool filled with blood, with human remains sticking out, almost as though someone were bathing in it. Only, you know, it was a kiddy pool, so it was too shallow for…

“I can’t make heads or tails of this,” Sullivan remarked. “If you’re gonna kill someone, why do it so publicly?”

Anna leaned in closer. “Well, I imagine someone’s going for theatricality. Like Hannibal Lecter. Is this blood the victim’s?”

“We’re pretty positive. The actual body parts are burnt to a crisp, we can’t get any DNA from them. But we tested the blood, it belongs to the owner of both this car and Ascension Overtures—a man named Cobb.”

No discernible features on the remains. They looked like they had been put through a furnace. Perhaps to hide DNA…but then why put them in a pool of blood?

Wait…who?

“What was his name again?” Anna asked, standing up and staring at Sullivan.

“Cobb. Silas Cobb. Local guy, people seemed to like him. I hear he was also an actor.”

Anna looked back at the remains. “This…” she pointed, just to be sure. “…is Silas Cobb?”

Sullivan stared at her. “Err, yes. Did you know him?”

Normally, Anna kept Sullivan in the dark about her personal life. He was always butting in on it, especially when it came to her cases, it was better off letting him know as little as possible. But she’d had her morning coffee and a reasonably good night. “Not exactly. I met him at the Liberty Club last night, I lit a cigarette for him.”

Sullivan pulled out his phone and started taking notes. “Did he seem worried or concerned about something?”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so now you’re questioning me.”

“Well, you might have been the last person to see him alive.”

Sigh. “Nice guy, I guess. Said he was under a lot of stress at work.”

“Did he say if it was work at the store or acting?”

“He didn’t specify. But the way the conversation went, I think it was acting.”

Sullivan jotted down what Anna said. While his attention was on his phone, Anna took out her own and surreptitiously snapped a photo of the human remains.

“Did he say anything else?” Sullivan asked, looking up after Anna had safely stowed her phone.

“Not really,” Anna lied. Something about Silas’s attitude the night before troubled her, making her wonder if the conversation was better off kept between the two of them. Or the one of them now. “We talked for a bit, I gave him my card, and then he left.”

“Did he leave by car?”

“Nah, he walked.”

Sullivan pocketed his phone. “Well, I might call you for a follow-up later if we find anything else, but I think you’re done here. Thanks for cooperating, I know you’re not used to it.”

 _Thank you for the backhanded compliment._ “It’s no trouble. I don’t have a lot to do today, anyway.” Anna turned and left for the police line.

“Oh, and Anna?”

She turned. “Yes, Sullivan?”

“Are you _sure_ he didn’t say anything else?”

“Would I lie to you?” Anna shrugged.

Sullivan frowned disapprovingly. “I’m not gonna answer that.” And then he turned and started talking to some of the forensics people again.

* * *

The cashier at the Grab ‘n Buy was a teenager named Genesis. She always saw Anna when it came to her regular trips to the market, and knew her general shopping routine: two cartons of milk and a box of Cadbury chocolate. Recently Anna had given up on always buying 3 or 5 six-packs of beer, but she still occasionally snuck one into her shopping basket, especially before the weekends.

“You’re up early,” she remarked as Anna approached with a shopping basket full of bags of coffee.

“Why is everyone marveling at how early I am?” Anna sighed. She started placing the coffee on the counter. “It’s not like I never wake up before noon.”

Genesis stared at her.

“So how’s your day been?” Anna asked, feeling a need to change the subject.

“Slow. We have 2 for 1 deals on a bunch of bath products if you’re interested.”

“Just the coffee beans.”

Genesis started scanning the bags of coffee. “Hey, you walked here, right?”

“I did.”

“Do you have any idea what all that commotion is over by Ascension Overtures?”

“Oh, apparently there was a murder. Some guy’s remains arranged in a pretty intricate way, actually: like a body bathing in a pool of blood, only the pool’s too shallow for it to be an actual body.”

“Well…that’s disgusting. Who was the victim?”

“The owner of the store: a guy named Silas Cobb.”

Genesis’s eyes squinted. “Holy shit…now it’s _him_?”

Not the response DeWitt expected. “Excuse me?”

“You’re talking about Silas Cobb, as in the guy who also acts with Cohen Productions?”

Anna was completely lost. “Yeah, I think that’s him. Why do you ask?”

Genesis looked around before leaning forward. “Okay, so here’s the thing: I didn’t know him that well, but I chatted with him a few times. He mentioned he was working on this new Sander Cohen/Ava Tate movie.”

The first name Anna knew already, but the second one she had to think about for a second. “Ava Tate? The movie star? What’s that has-been doing in a Cohen film?”

“No clue. Weird, right? Never took her for an art-house fan…anyway, so I went online and started looking into the production. It’s called _The Pink Room_ , it’s being described as something like a…’sexual disturbia’ or something like that. But here’s the kicker: I found out that two actors who were attached to this film have been murdered in the past couple of months.”

“What?”

“Look.” Genesis pulled out her phone and showed Anna an article. “Right here: ‘The body, which was found tangled up in a piano backstage at the opera house this morning, has been identified as belonging to local actor Kyle Fitzpatrick.’ And here: ‘Representatives for The Blue Ribbon restaurant have no explanation as to how actor Martin Finnegan’s remains got onto the meat hooks in their industrial freezer.” Genesis put down her phone. “So what do you think? Conspiracy?”

“Conspiracy is a strong word,” Anna replied. She did find the whole thing a bit too peculiar to be coincidence, but she was reluctant to take on this particular case for a number of reasons.

A few months back Anna had been roped into a case involving the murder of Ascension scientist Brigid Tenenbaum. The case, which she felt was wrapped up in a satisfying manner, had jogged a host of memories she truly doubted she ever should have remembered. Memories of a certain city in the clouds…

That previous case had nearly drained the life from her (and, uh, me), she didn’t want to get into too much trouble again.

The only choice was to try to dodge the question. “If it’s so clear, why haven’t the police noticed the connection yet?”

“I thought about that.” Genesis was sounding like a detective herself. “I can think of a couple of reasons. One is that each of these murders happened in different jurisdictions, so the departments aren’t exactly working together. And their only connection is _The Pink Room_ , which is already pretty obscure. It looks like only the arts entertainment media and Cohen’s circle of influence are really aware of it, and even then Cohen’s pretty secretive about his films in progress.”

Knowing Sullivan, he would probably notice the connection sooner or later. But probably later. For now, Anna and Genesis were the only ones who knew.

“Wait…” Anna looked up. “Why are you telling me all this? If you made the connection, why not bring it to the police?”

Genesis shrugged. “You’re the one who knows what to do around here. So are you gonna take this case?”

Anna pulled out her wallet and started to pay for the coffee. “Are you hiring me?”

That made the clerk laugh. “Nah, forget it.” She placed the coffees in a clear plastic bag. “Seriously though, you can’t deny it’s strange.”

Anna grabbed the bag from the counter. “Don’t be so sure. I’ve seen some strange stuff in my life.”

Genesis laughed as she watched her favorite customer head for the door. She didn’t hear her mutter under her breath, “Well, lives.”

* * *

Sullivan had already left by the time Anna passed the crime scene again. It looked like the forensics team was loading the pool into a van to bring back to the station.

She pulled out her phone and made a memo describing the details of the car:

 _LEXUS, 2368-2372 MODEL?_  
LICENSE PLATE: “ **SUN** ” PROBABLY CUSTOM JOB  
COHEN CONNECTION; COMPANY CAR  
BURNT REMAINS AND POOL OF BLOOD; WHY BURN REMAINS?

She pocketed her phone. No one was paying her for this, but it didn’t hurt to be curious.

After she returned to the office, she made a fresh cup of coffee and helped Sally with her homework. She wasn’t that much help, but it gave her a sense of accomplishment; a chance to really feel like the older sister.

* * *

That night, after Sally had gone back to her apartment, Anna stayed up at her desk and looked up the name of “Silas Cobb.” Nothing particularly noteworthy showed up besides film and theater credits. She found a few videos of him as Louis in a production of _Angels In America_ , but not much else. There weren’t even red carpet interviews with him for the Cohen films he did. Actually, by the looks of it he wasn’t much more than an extra for the films. There was no listing for his role in _The Pink Room_ , however, just that he was in it.

After closing her computer, she reached into her drawer and pulled out a photograph she had received some months ago, one of a necklace with a graphic of a bird engraved on the front.

She stared at the photograph for a good minute. Memory was a fickle thing. She did not remember everything about the other cities. But she remembered enough to look at the photo with a sense of nostalgia.

Sander Cohen. Kyle Fitzpatrick. Martin Finnegan. Silas Cobb. Ava Tate. Names she remembered. Brief glimpses of people in rooms, singing songs, shooting films, electrocuting hapless muses.

The Fontaine case had proven there were certain constants between the cities. Frank Fontaine had been a lying murderer in Rapture, and he proved very much that in Ascension. Jeremiah Fink was a philandering louse in Columbia, and there was absolutely no denying he was that in Ascension.

And Esther Mailer…where was Esther Mailer from? She never was able to remember which city she was in. But the odds were in favor that she was a lying bitch there as well.

Knowing the rumors about Cohen and his production company, it didn’t take much mental power to guess this Cohen was as deranged as the one in Rapture. But she could not guarantee this Cohen was guilty of the same crimes.

Anna needed a drink.

She went over to the fridge and looked in. No alcohol…she should have bought some at the Grab ‘n Buy.

She opened one of the cabinets in her desk and found what she was looking for: the dregs of a bottle of scotch.

She placed it on her desk, grabbed a glass, and pulled open the top. But she didn’t pour the drink into the glass. Instead, she sat there, staring at the bottle.

Finally, she tapped a button on her desk, and Alec booted up. _“How may I assist you, Detective?”_

“Alec, I need you to crunch some numbers. Can I afford to take on a case where there’s no financial benefit?”

_“…I’m…not entirely sure I understand what you mean, Detective.”_

“If I decided to commit to a case where I wasn’t gonna get paid, would I be able to without running this business into the ground?”

_“Well, if the situation involves just not earning money for the duration of such a case, you could hypothetically continue paying taxes and bills and buying groceries for about three more months.”_

“And if it’s more than just not earning money?”

_“You mean like all of your cases?”_

Anna laughed bitterly. “Yeah.”

_“Well, my programming can’t give you an exact estimate considering how unpredictable your investigations tend to be.”_

“I guess that’s true.”

_“But if you take into account any potential risk of injury and legal problems that you could encounter like you have in the past…well, my best guess is you would have to start asking Sally for money.”_

Sally of course had a substantial inheritance following the murder of her mother, the scientist Dr. Brigid Tenenbaum. That was one inheritance Anna had no intention of ever touching.

“Thanks Alec, that’ll be all for tonight.”

_“Goodnight, Detective.”_

Alec’s panel made a beeping noise before turning a shade of purple.

Instead of going to bed, or even taking a sip from her whiskey, Anna opened a blank document on her computer. At the very top she typed out the phrase “SILAS COBB AND THE PINK ROOM.”

“Maybe not an actual case,” she muttered. “But curiosity never hurt.”

Suddenly, Alec’s panel went blue again. _“Sorry to disturb you, Detective, but I just noticed there’s a new message in your inbox. I’ll cue it up on your screen.”_

A message appeared:

**_Detective DeWitt,_ **

**_I am sorry to disturb you, but a friend of mine gave me your address. My name is Donovan Boyer, and I am looking to potentially hiring you to investigate something a bit…personal for me. May I stop by your office tomorrow?_ **

**_D. Boyer_ **

“Huh.”

**_Mr. Boyer,_ **

**_Absolutely. Feel free to come by anytime. But be advised I cannot guarantee I will answer the door before noon.  
_ **

**_Detective Anna DeWitt_ **


	3. Hired

**Tuesday, July 7, 2370, 11:34 AM  
DeWitt Investigations, Calypso Plaza, Bradley Heights**

Sally had left a message a few hours before Anna woke up, saying some stuff had come up at school and she would not be able to do her afternoon shift.

Anna hadn’t heard it yet, though. Right now she was sitting at her desk, listening to the sound of someone entering the reception area of her office.

“Hello?” a voice called out.

“Through the door on your right,” she replied, getting up from her desk.

The door opened and in walked a young man, probably early 30s, wearing a brown suit. His hair was combed to the side with a crisp part on the same longitude as the furthest edge of his right eyebrow. He had put too much gel on, his hair was shining even when he wasn’t standing under light.

“Mr. Boyer, I presume,” Anna said, walking up to him and shaking his hand. “Have a seat. Would you like some coffee?”

“Uh, no thanks,” he said nervously. “It…goes right through me.”

“Fair enough.” Anna made herself a cup before directing him to the chair directly opposite her desk. “So…tell me about yourself, Donovan Boyer.”

“Just call me Dean. I don’t really use Donovan.”

“Well, Dean Boyer, what can I do for you?”

Dean glanced around the room. Anna didn’t like when her clients did that: it implied initial mistrust right off the bat. Not a good start to relationships in her book.

“Well…it’s about my ex-boyfriend.”

Anna let out a sudden cough, which was definitely not accidental. “Not that kind of Private Eye, pal.”

“No! No, not like that…” Dean shifted embarrassedly. “He, well…he’s been murdered.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I was looking to hire your services in investigating his death.”

“Is that so?” Anna pulled out a notepad and a pencil. “Well, my asking price is 400 dollars a day.”

Dean looked startled. “Isn’t that a little much?”

Anna smiled. “Well, under normal circumstances I would settle for minimum wage. But when we take into account accident insurance and risk of bodily harm and the potential need for me to be bailed out of jail—“

“Okay, okay! Can you give me an estimate on how many days this would take?”

“Not really. I go over every detail, but one case could take a few hours and another could take me a month.” Noticing Dean’s sickly look, she added, “Though most of my cases only take a week.”

Dean looked at the door. “Umm…I don’t mean to be rude, I think I’ll take my case elsewhere.”

Anna shrugged. “Fine with me. Before you do though…mind taking a look at that bulletin board over there?”

To Anna’s left, hanging between two windows in the lounge area, was a large bulletin board. At the center was a picture of an unpleasant-looking man with a red line drawn in crayon over his face. Next to it, linked by some red thread, was a picture of what appeared to be a _femme-fatale_ -type with a question mark over her face. Linked to her were photos of five people, each with a red X covering their faces.

“That’s from my last big case,” Anna explained. “I’m sure you remember Frank Fontaine? That’s him with the red line through his face. That lady next to him was his lieutenant, who also carried out assassinations for him—specifically, those five people.”

“I see.”

“Now…look at what’s directly above Mr. Fontaine.”

Linked to Fontaine with blue thread was a picture of Anna.

“Notice anything different about mine?” she asked. “Perhaps a lack of crayon? Think about that before taking your services somewhere else.”

Dean stared at the board for a moment longer before turning to look at Anna.

The detective knew what that silence meant. She gripped her pencil and began writing on the notepad. “Your boyfriend…what was his name?”

“Silas. Silas Cobb.”

The pencil tip broke. Anna stayed still for a moment.

“Umm…Ms. DeWitt?”

She put down the pencil. “That’s ‘Detective,’ to you, Mr. Boyer. Well, today’s your lucky day. I’m waiving the fee.”

“You’re what?”

 _“You’re what?!”_ Alec exclaimed.

“I’m already undergoing an active investigation with regards to your boyfriend’s death. You don’t have to hire me for a case I’m already on.”

Though he didn’t say it out loud, Boyer seemed pleased by this. “So where does that leave me?”

“Just a witness.” Anna pulled out a microphone. “Mind if I record our chat? I’m gonna need to check back on some stuff over the investigation.”

“Of course.”

“Alec, transcribe the conversation as we go along.”

_“…of course, Detective.”_

Anna turned on the microphone. “So, how did you know Mr. Cobb?”

Boyer, who seemed more relaxed now, leaned back in his chair. “Well, we hit it off at a club one night about a year ago, and we ended up getting an apartment together about two months in.”

“Daring.”

“Well, he was good with money, able to support both of us. Then he got cast in some Tennessee Williams play that was co-produced by—“

“Which play?”

“…what?”

“Which Tennessee Williams play?”

“Err… _A Streetcar Named Desire_.”

“Ahah. Continue.”

“Well, it was co-produced—“

“You sure it was _Streetcar_? He also wrote _Cat on a Hot Tin Roof_.”

“I’m…pretty sure it was _Streetcar_.”

“Was there a random-ass moment where a lady kisses a kid?”

“I’m sorry, is any of this relevant?”

“I don’t fuck around with Tennessee Williams. Go on.”

Boyer waited for a few seconds before continuing, clearly on-guard after that strange digression. “Well, the co-producer of _Streetcar_ was Sander Cohen, so I’d see him around a lot in the rehearsal space. He seemed to take a…a _liking_ to him after a few rehearsals.”

“I see.”

“Something weird started happening. He started coming home pretty late in the evenings, he was cold and distant with me and his friends… he tried to keep to himself. Like he was hiding something.”

“Was he cheating on you?”

“Knowing what Cohen gets up to with his muses, I wouldn’t put it past him. Either way, soon as the production was over, Silas packed up and left. Moved to a penthouse near the studio.”

Anna pursed her lips. “So…why did you wanna hire me?”

“Well, a few months ago, he called me out of the blue. I think it was a wrong number. But he sounded like he was in trouble.”

“What’d he say?”

“It was a weird call… he said ‘the goods had been compromised’ and that he wanted out. But then he realized it was me and hung up. He sounded… pained?”

“Pained?”

“Like he’d been injured. He was breathing a lot and it sounded like it was hard for him to speak. Probably wasn’t a call I was meant to hear. He called me back about a week later and apologized, said he’d gotten mixed up. But whatever he was up to…it had to do with Cohen.”

“You think Cohen killed him.”

Boyer let out a laugh, an unusually candid one for him. “Not himself, no…that guy wouldn’t dare get his hands dirty. But he has to have something to do with it. Silas got in over his head, cost him his life.”

“Precious. Alec, stop recording.” Anna leaned forward. “On-record, you’re not hiring me. But off-the-record, considering you came with the intention of it, I’m obligated to offer you any information I find.”

Boyer held up his hands. “No information needed. Just… I need closure.”

Anna nodded. “I’ll let you know when I’m done. Feel free to head out.”

Boyer nodded as he grabbed his things and headed for the door. But before he left, he stopped. “By the way…” he said, looking over his shoulder. “Bring Cohen down, alright?”

And then he was gone.

* * *

Normally, Anna would have found some way to weasel herself into the Cohen Studios. This time, however, she had someone much closer to Cohen to help her get there through more legitimate means.

“Alec, call LeSandra Cohen.”

_“Dialing…”_

The muffled sound of dance music. _“Well, Ms. Draper, I presume.”_

“Hahah.”

_“What can I do for you, Anna?”_

“I need a way to get close to your father.”

_“Ooh, looking for a date?”_

“You know I’m not. It’s…for a case.”

_“…”_

“Hello?”

_“This is about that Cobb kid, isn’t it?”_

“How did you know?”

_“Listen, DeWitt: I know my dad. Sander Cohen is one of the most dangerous men in the city, I wouldn’t put it past him to kill Si, much less Kyle or Martin.”_

“You knew them?”

_“Of course. He loves bringing his work home with him.”_

“Pleasant. So why haven’t you gone to the police about it?”

_“Evidence, honey. I may be his socialite daughter, but he’s practically one of the founders. I can’t go to anyone about my suspicions, not even the Board of Improvement. If anyone’s gonna find proof he killed those guys, it’s you.”_

“Thanks.”

_“He’s got a banquet at Cohen Studios tomorrow night. I might be able to sneak you in as a journalist. Maybe the backstory is we’re old girlfriends.”_

“Not far off.”

_“As I recall you weren’t too interested. I’ll get you a ticket: what name should I put you under?”_

“Courtnee Draper, Arts Section of Odyssey Magazine.”

_“Got a good ring to it. Oh, one more thing.”_

“Yes?”

_“Who hired you for this?”_

“No one, actually, I’m just curious.”

_“…just curious, huh? Well, you know curiosity killed the cat.”_

Anna smirked. “Yes, but satisfaction brought it back.”

_“Good girl. See you tomorrow.”_

“Likewise.”


End file.
